


We Be All Night

by ShowMeAHero



Category: Frankenstein & Related Fandoms, Frankenstein - Mary Shelley
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Making Out, Mentions of alcohol, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 06:20:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2458016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Henry climbed in the wrong window at three in the morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Be All Night

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill for Lauryn, who asked for "Climbing in the wrong window drunk at 3am".
> 
> Title from "Drunk in Love" by Beyoncé (ft. Jay-Z).

It was August, and it was _hot_. Victor rarely opened his windows, if only because he lived in the city and the outside was hardly any better than the inside, even when he was working on an experiment. Plus, the people who would gather outside in the alley - for reasons unknown to Victor - were somewhat unruly, and Victor preferred silence or his own choice of music when he worked. Tonight, though, it was unbearably hot; stuffy, humid, _and_ the air conditioner was broken, and so the window was open to allow the breeze to move the still night air.

Of course, the one night he leaves his window open is the one night a man comes hurtling through it.

Victor, underneath his shock, had to admit to being a _little_ impressed. The man was clearly at least slightly drunk, and he lived on the sixth floor of the building. He had no idea how the man got onto the fire escape in the first place, especially when he stood from the floor and could not have been more than five feet tall. Victor pushed his safety goggles up to the top of his head and watched as the man looked around, bewildered. He finally saw Victor and pointed.

“You are not Elizabeth,” the man stated, seemingly puzzled that Victor was not Elizabeth.

“No,” Victor answered slowly. “Elizabeth is my cousin. She lives next door.”

The man nodded sagely, as though Victor had just said something infinitely wise. He started examining the half-finished experiments on the table nearest to where he had landed. Victor watched incredulously as the man examined a bubbling flask on a hot plate that Victor was _technically_ not supposed to have. His distraction gave Victor a chance to really look at the man; he had long, strawberry-blonde hair cascading down his back, the golden-red curls tangled up in each other and reaching the small of his back. He had very light skin that was barely visible under his dense orange freckles. He was short, but thin and lithe, with a slender strength about him. His eyes, when he abruptly looked up at Victor, were bottle-green and impossibly bright. He grinned and snapped his fingers, pointing at Victor.

“Elizabeth’s cousin!” he exclaimed. Victor froze.

“...Yes,” he replied, hesitant. The man came closer, closely inspecting Victor’s face.

“Victor,” the strange man stated, and Victor raised his eyebrows. “The one with the experiments who never leaves his apartment.”

“That would be me, I suppose,” Victor confirmed. He stepped away from the microscope he was standing at to remove his gloves and toss them in the trash bin. The man followed his every motion with his alert gaze. “Do you want me to take you over to Elizabeth’s?”

“No, I like you,” the man said, looking through the microscope Victor had just been standing at. He turned around. “Unless you want me to go, I’m sorry, I know I-”

“No,” Victor interrupted. He was intrigued by the man, to be honest. He found himself wanting him to stay. He rocked back on his heels, then used the momentum to jolt forwards to remove the bubbling flask from the hot plate. He slipped on an oven mitt and lifted the flask gingerly by its delicate neck, if only for something besides the strange man to focus on. “You’re fine to stay here, if you’d like.”

The man watched Victor grab a pot holder - funnily enough, one he had stolen from Elizabeth’s kitchen - and place it down on the table. He settled the flask on the pot holder. The man crept up beside him.

“My name is Henry,” the man said, shaking Victor’s oven-mitt-clad hand eagerly. “I’m sorry, I was out with a friend of mine, and I meant to go to Elizabeth’s, but it seems I made a bit of a miscalculation. I apologize.”

“Henry?” Victor repeated. He removed his oven mitt and put it down on the table. “Henry Clerval? That Henry?”

“Yes!” the man - _Henry_ \- exclaimed. A moment later, his light eyebrows furrowed. “How did you know?”

“Elizabeth is constantly trying to set me up on a date with you,” Victor admitted, after a moment of hesitation. Henry laughed.

“I wasn’t going to tell you, but she’s done the same to me,” Henry replied. Victor reached around his own back to untie his apron-turned-smock. Henry reached up around Victor’s neck to help while Victor was doing the waist. Victor felt his own cheeks turn as red as Henry’s were, but Henry finished the job without hesitation. Victor tugged the apron off and reached behind himself blindly to hang it up on one of the hooks lining the wall. Henry did not follow this time, instead staying absolutely still in the same spot. Well, not _absolutely_ still - he kept rocking on his feet, swinging his arms. Constant semi-motion.

Victor was in _so_ much trouble.

“Maybe we can cut out the middleman,” Henry offered, seemingly out of the blue until Victor remembered their conversation. Henry looked up at him, his eyelashes much lighter than Victor’s, and Victor found himself nodding.

“Elizabeth isn’t expecting me, I was just going to surprise her,” Henry continued, finally moving from the table with the hot plate to stand by Victor.

“Are you drunk?” Victor asked, eyes skimming Henry’s face. Henry shook his head, then paused thoughtfully.

“Not really,” he amended. “I had a couple drinks, but I wouldn’t call myself drunk.”

“I don’t want to take advantage of you,” Victor said softly; Henry’s face was abruptly very close to his. Victor started counting the freckles on his nose.

“You wouldn’t be,” Henry replied. He smiled. “But I admire that.” He stretched up onto his toes, his eyes flickering down to Victor’s lips. He looked back up, met his eyes. “Is this okay?”

Victor nodded jerkily, and Henry pressed their mouths together very, very softly, as though Victor might spook and run away from the room. To be fair, with the wrong move, Victor very well might have. Elizabeth must have told Henry more about him than he was letting on. Victor, brought on by the high that nighttime and fresh excitement bring, wrapped his fingers around Henry’s thighs and lifted him up onto the table, shoving the bottles and papers out of the way to make room for him. He fit himself in between Henry’s legs and let him devour his mouth.

The night certainly had not gone how he was expecting it to go. The slide with the skin cells he had been examining was abandoned; its possibilities and opportunities, which had seemed so bright just twenty minutes ago, were temporarily forgotten. Victor had never done this before; he rarely dated, and, when he did, he never brought them to his apartment. Only family members had ever been in his home. Well, and the fire department, a couple of times. But, seeing Henry, here, in his home… It was like he belonged there. It was like he had been in Victor’s life since childhood, and maybe he was exhausted, maybe he was overexcited, but he could hardly remember before Henry.

He was overtired. He must be. He had to be. But Victor could hardly bring himself to care, there in his guest-room-turned-makeshift-laboratory, with Henry’s legs wrapped around his waist, Henry’s lips pressing a line of kisses down his neck, Henry’s hands cradling his face. He wound his hands in Henry’s hair and pulled his head back up, shoving their mouths together again. When Henry finally dropped his head down to Victor’s shoulder, taking deep pulls of oxygen, Victor wrapped his arms around him loosely.

“I don’t want to take advantage of you,” he repeated breathlessly. Henry laughed.

“I’ll stay on the couch,” Henry said. “If that’s okay.”

“No, you can take my bed,” Victor argued. Henry lifted his head, leaving his arms draped around Victor’s neck.

“You can take your bed, too.” Henry ran a thumb along Victor’s cheekbone, down his cheek, to his jawline.

“We can both fit,” Victor informed him, trying to ignore the trail of fire that Henry’s touch left behind. “No hanky panky.”

Henry snorted. Victor smiled. “How old are you? ‘No hanky panky,’” he teased, imitating Victor’s deep, serious voice. “Are you Benjamin Button? Are you secretly eighty years old?”

“I promise, I’m not,” Victor laughed lightly. He mimicked an X over his heart. “I swear, I’m of an appropriate age.”

Henry ran his hands down Victor’s chest, his legs swinging on either side of Victor’s hips. Victor’s eyes followed the path of his hands down to where they stopped and settled on his waist. He reached down and wrapped his thin fingers around Henry’s wrists. He looked them over, analyzing them under his hands. His much larger, longer hands easily encircled Henry’s skinny, freckled wrists, his eyes searching out where his ulna was, his radius, his _flexor carpi radialis_ , his _abductor policis longus_ -

“Are you okay?” Henry asked, interrupting his thoughts. Victor squeezed his wrists and looked up.

“I never do this,” Victor confessed. “I’m not impulsive. I don’t spend a lot of time with… other people. You know… how it is.”

“It’s okay,” Henry assured him, watching Victor run the pad of his thumb over Henry’s pulse point. “Go at your own pace. I did kind of just… _drop in_ on you.”

“No,” Victor said, trying not to smile while Henry laughed at his own dumb joke. “No, that’s not funny, stop laughing at that.”

“I’m _very_ funny,” Henry argued, grinning. “I won’t make any moves on you in your bed, I promise.”

“Same to you.” Victor stepped back, gripped Henry’s waist, and helped him down to the floor. Henry kissed Victor’s cheek and moved away, leaving Victor to clean up the last of his night’s projects and motion for Henry to follow.

“Here’s the bathroom,” Victor pointed out, passing the door on the way to the bedroom. “The kitchen and living room are right through there… and here is my room.”

Henry made his way in ahead of Victor, running his fingers along one of the many bookshelves lining every wall of his room. He stopped, briefly examining a couple spines, before turning back to Victor.

“I like your room,” Henry commented. Victor hesitated, then went to his wardrobe to pull out a pair of pajama pants. He held them out at arm’s length. Henry raised an eyebrow. “What, no shirt?”

Victor blushed. “I’m sorry, I can-”

“I’m just teasing,” Henry assured him, unbuttoning his daisy-patterened shirt and tugging it off. He reached for the buttons on his jeans, then hesitated. “Is this okay?”

“Do you want me to turn around?” Victor asked. Henry paused, then unbuttoned them and tugged them off in one swift motion. He pulled on Victor’s pajama pants, the too-long ends of them folding under his feet. He bent over to fold them up, and Victor had to look away, grabbing a pair of boxers and a wifebeater and pulling them on as quickly as he could. When he turned, Henry was watching him, one eyebrow raised and a smile playing on his lips.

“I have to work at eight,” Victor blurted. Henry grinned.

“Then we should probably get some rest.” Henry motioned to the bed, and Victor paused before choosing the side he usually slept on. Henry climbed easily into his bed, as though he had done this a hundred times before. Victor reached over and turned off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness.

“Goodnight, Victor,” Henry said, his voice soft in the darkness. His hand reached out and found Victor’s, their fingers twining together against the covers.

“Goodnight,” Victor replied quietly. They fell into silence, holding hands, side-by-side. If they woke up in the morning, and Victor was wrapped around Henry, front-to-back, nobody was there to see, and there would be plenty more mornings just like it, anyways.

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow me on Twitter at [@nicoIodeon](https://twitter.com/nicoIodeon) or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


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